Ginger Snapped to Death

by Catherine Bruns

  Josie started to open her door, but I held up a hand. "I'm perfectly capable of making it into the house by myself. If you want a complete rundown, I'm going to eat and then take a nap. If I don't see Rob, please thank him and his brother for bringing the car back."

  She laughed. "Okay, point well taken. Call me later, hon." Josie waited until I was inside the front door before she sped off.

  After I'd hung up my coat and fed Spike, I spent the next hour feeding my face. I had a generous portion of Grandma Rosa's homemade ravioli, leftover from dinner the other night, and a piece of tiramisu. I was guzzling down a glass of chocolate milk when my phone buzzed. Brian. "Hey, what's up?"

  "Sally, I just got done talking to Damian."

  "Did you arrest him?" I wanted to know.

  Brian sounded confused. "On what grounds?"

  "Gee, beats me." The words dripped like acid from my tongue. "Maybe for holding a gun to a pregnant woman's head? Stealing her vehicle? Or perhaps engineering the entire carjacking scheme? He must have had something to do with it."

  "Sally, if you can't ID the guy from last night, then no, I have no grounds to arrest him. We found his address on an index card in your seat. That's all. Damian said that you wrote the note."

  My eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Why would I do that?"

  Brian was silent for a few seconds. "Sally, I have work to do. We can talk about this later."

  "No! Why did Damian say that?"

  He paused. "Damian said that you're still crazy about him. He seems to think he's some major chick magnet. Once a girl kisses him, they can never get him out of their head."

  Oh. My. God. "He's insane!" I blurted out. "That was 16 years ago. Those drugs he does have really affected his brain. Can't you arrest him for illegal usage or something else?"

  Brian sighed. "I know what he said is ridiculous, Sally, but he does have a solid alibi for last night. In fact, he was meeting with his parole officer at the same time your carjacking occurred. He's been in and out of jail for the last two years on various assault and drug charges. He insists that he's been clean for a few months, and his parole officer attests to it. The guy has some major issues, but he wasn't one of the Santas who took your car. And if he knows who did, he's not telling."

  Steam poured out of my ears. "What an arrogant punk. Not only does he think he's God's gift to women, but he's flat out lying! He must be in on it with the Santas. You have to do something. They could have killed me and my baby!"

  His voice was gentle, as if talking to a child. "We're doing our best, Sally. You know that I've always got your back." There was an awkward silence before he continued. "Try to relax, okay? I've got to run. Don't worry. I'll keep you posted."

  "But Brian—"

  He hung up before I could say another word.

  * * *

  "I thought Brian was your friend," my mother protested. "It doesn't sound like he fully understands what you've been through, darling."

  We were all seated around my parents' cherrywood dining table—my father at the head, with my mother located to his right, and Mike and myself next to her. Across from us sat Gianna, Johnny, and an empty highchair. Grandma Rosa had taken Alex upstairs to change his diaper.

  "It's insane," Mike grunted as he helped himself to another piece of lasagna. "Sal and the baby could have been killed. Damian's address is found in her car, and you know she didn't put it there. That guy has to be involved somehow."

  "I always knew there was something odd about that boy," my mother mused as she opened her compact and adjusted her false eyelashes. At the age of 54, Maria Muccio looked better than I did most days. Her hair was a tad lighter than my own ebony shade and fell to her shoulders in rich, perfect waves, while mine was curlier with more frizz. Her large dark eyes were set in a heart-shaped face, and she had a perfect size four figure any woman her age—or mine—would kill for. When Mom, Gianna, and I were out shopping a couple of months back, the saleswoman had asked if we were sisters. Mom had giggled and even had the nerve to tell her she was the youngest. To my chagrin, the woman had believed her.

  My father snorted and scratched his balding head. "Degenerate punk. I never did get my twenty bucks back from that thieving kid, either."

  Grandma Rosa came back into the room at that moment, holding Alex in her arms. Johnny jumped up from his chair to take the baby from her and strapped him into the highchair while Gianna sipped at a glass of wine through half-slitted eyes. She looked like she was in her own private heaven. Gianna had stopped nursing Alex last week and had missed indulging in her Chianti as much as I currently missed my daily doses of caffeine. Almost.

  "I know it's not what you want to hear, Sal," she said. "But there's nothing else Brian can do. They have no proof Damian was involved in your carjacking."

  Grandma Rosa put a finger to the side of her short white hair and moved it in a circular motion. "The boy did seem like a crack job to me."

  That got a laugh out of me. "It's whack job, Grandma."

  "Rosa's right," Mike said grimly. "I'm sure he's done plenty of it."

  Grandma Rosa shrugged in response to my correction. "Whatever." The house phone rang from the kitchen, and she disappeared to answer it.

  With renewed relish, I dug into my second piece of cheesecake. "I have to try to put this behind me. The baby will be here any day—or minute—and he or she will be a great distraction. Plus, there's your wedding in a few days, Gi."

  To my surprise, Gianna frowned at the words and hastily poured herself another glass of wine. Johnny shot me a pained look. What the heck was going on here? Had Nicoletta already succeeded in ruining the entire day for them? This should be a happy occasion, but Gianna acted like she was attending her funeral instead.

  Grandma Rosa came back into the dining room and pointed at me. "Cara mia, Brian is on the phone for you. He said that he tried your cell, but you did not answer." Her eyes regarded me solemnly. "The officer said it is important."

  I threw my napkin on the table with a sigh and slowly got to my feet. What kind of lies was Damian telling about me now? Maybe Brian was calling to say they'd found some way to tie him to the carjacking. I fumed as I walked into the kitchen, rubbing my lower back. The idea that I was still carrying a torch for Damian after 16 years was ridiculous. Only an idiot would believe that.

  I grabbed the receiver and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. Standing for more than a few minutes had become difficult.

  "Sally?" Brian's voice sounded urgent. "Are you there? I can hear someone breathing."

  "Sorry, Brian. Yes, I'm here. What's up?"

  He cleared his throat. "I'm glad that I found you. I took a chance that you might be at your parents for dinner."

  "Yes, the entire family is here. What's wrong? Is it related to the carjacking?"

  "Yes. Stay at your parents for a little while, please. I'm coming over to talk to you."

  I clutched the phone tightly in my hand. "Brian, you're scaring me. What happened? Did you find the carjackers?"

  "Sally, I'll tell you everything as soon as I get there."

  My patience level was at an all-time low these days. "No! Tell me now. Did you see Damian again? He confessed to the carjacking, didn't he?" Anger coursed through my veins. I couldn't believe that someone I'd once cared about had put me and my unborn child in such grave danger. "I hope that you're planning to arrest him."

  "No, I'm not going to arrest him."

  I became incensed with rage and could no longer hold back my thoughts. "What? This is crazy! He's a criminal and deserves to get what's coming to him. Why can't you arrest him?"

  There was a pause before Brian spoke again. "Because he's dead, Sally."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "I told you that punk was a bad lot," my father grunted as he dug into his second piece of cheesecake. "He always ran with a bad crowd. I'm sorry he's dead but can't say it comes as a surprise."

  Mike sandwiched my hand between both of his. "Are you all right, baby? M
aybe we should go home."

  I shook my head, still trying to absorb what Brian had told me. "No, Brian's coming over here. He asked me to stay put."

  My husband's midnight blue eyes were intense as they stared into mine. "Why? Damian is dead. This doesn't involve you anymore."

  I finished off the mug of hot chocolate Grandma Rosa had brought me and merely shrugged. Mike was right. What else was there left to tell me? Damian was dead. Had someone shot him? Was it one of the Jolly-less Santas? Maybe he'd died of a drug overdose. That must be it. So why was Brian coming to see me? My chest constricted, and I sensed that, whatever the reason, it couldn't be good.

  My father waved his hand in the air, as if swatting a fly. "Never mind, baby girl. He probably found something to link the guy to your carjacking. Now, forget about him for a moment. There's more important matters to discuss, like my new job."

  Gianna frowned at him. "Dad, this isn't a good time for another one of your harebrained schemes. Can't you tell that Sal's in shock?"

  My mother ran over to my side of the table on her tiny silver stiletto heels and patted my belly. "Are you in labor, honey? Maybe we should go to the hospital?"

  I gritted my teeth and silently counted to ten. I loved my family dearly, but they were slowly suffocating me to death. All I wanted was to go home and forget about the past 24 hours, but the urgency in Brian's voice told me that there was yet another bombshell waiting to fall on my head.

  "Nonsense," my father protested. "She needs to know now before my students arrive Saturday at the bakery."

  My head shot up. "Did you say students?"

  He grinned. "Yep. The local college is letting me teach a course on blogging. I was hoping to use your upstairs apartment."

  I glanced across the table at my sister. Gianna's glass slipped, and wine spilled freely on the white lace tablecloth. Distracted, she blotted furiously at the spot with her napkin. "Sorry, Grandma. I'll wash it for you." She pointed a finger at my father. "You are no teacher. You don't even have a college degree, so how are you qualified to teach a course?"

  My father grinned and proudly stuck his chest out. His blue T-shirt, stretched tightly over his middle, read in white block letters, Sally's Samples. Eat a Cookie, Get a Free Fortune. My father was all about the freebies these days and had asked me for seven—one for every day of the week.

  "It's a nonaccredited class," he explained. "They're willing to let me teach and are even going to pay me. The problem is that they don't have any available classrooms on the weekends." His dark eyes searched mine hopefully. "The desks are being delivered tomorrow."

  My father never ceased to amaze me. He always had something up his sleeve. "Dad, I'm sorry, but the baby is going to sleep there while I work during the day. You'll have to find another building."

  "Princess," Mike said sharply. "That's too much. You already have Dodie working in the bakery. Josie will be fine with her. You should cut back on your hours and only work two or three days a week."

  "But it's my business," I said simply. "I have to be there. I can do both."

  Mike sighed. "It's a lot to take on, especially for a new mother. You're going to be exhausted. How will you handle it all?"

  Gianna narrowed her eyes at him. "I have a baby and work full time. Does that make me an unfit mother?"

  Oh boy. Careful, Mike. Gianna was like a rubber band these days, ready to snap at any second.

  "Of course not," Mike assured her. "I just don't want her to be worn out, that's all."

  Gianna poured herself another glass of wine as the baby squealed and shook his rattle in her face. She kissed his hand and then downed half the drink. "Sure, Sal's going to be worn out," she snarled. "That's part of being a mother. Men don't understand."

  Dad raised an eyebrow at her. "My beautiful girl, you're drinking way too much. Stop acting like such a lush."

  Gianna slammed the glass down on the table. "Maybe I have a reason to drink. Maybe I've had it with people interfering in my life."

  Johnny put a hand on her shoulder and grinned sheepishly at us. "The wedding's stressing her out big time."

  Gianna's eyes shot daggers in his direction. "Or maybe it's your Satan-like grandmother who won't give us a moment to breathe?"

  "Yep, that's an accurate description." My father clinked his glass with Gianna's.

  As if on cue, the kitchen door slammed. "Where my baby?" a shrill female voice called out, and we all cringed. Gianna laid her head down on her arms and groaned. Johnny rubbed his eyes wearily and went to the doorway to greet his grandmother.

  Nicoletta Gavelli was under five feet tall, but a pure fireball. She was dressed in her usual black housedress, covered by a wool coat of the same color, black stockings, and Birkenstocks. It didn't matter if it was ten degrees outside or ninety—she always wore the same type of outfit. Her coarse gray hair was pulled back from her lined, leathery face in a tight bun. Dark eyes regarded us all sharply as she shook a bony finger at her grandson. "You come here for dinner and not tell me?" She accepted the coffee mug my grandmother placed in front of her and helped herself from the carafe on the table.

  "Fool," Grandma Rosa grunted at her friend. "Are Gianna and Johnny not allowed to eat dinner without you bothering them for once? And I thought that you had a date with Ronald tonight."

  Ronald Feathers was Nicoletta's eighty-something-year-old boyfriend. "He have poker game with his buddies," she announced. "He tell me I can come if I serve everyone drinks. What, I a waitress now?"

  Mike lowered his head, but I could see the smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

  I raised my eyes pleadingly at my grandmother, and she nodded in understanding. I didn't want Nicoletta here when Brian arrived, and Grandma Rosa knew this. She started in the direction of the living room, where the staircase was located, and beckoned Nicoletta to follow her. "Come. I show you quilt I make for Sally's baby."

  Nicoletta's eyes shone like a cat's as they regarded me. "You have cravings?" she asked.

  I laughed and placed my hands on my belly. "Only for Grandma's cheesecake." But I'd had that when I wasn't pregnant.

  Nicoletta nodded approval. "Good. You must give into cravings. If not, baby be born with ugly spots on his head."

  My grandmother shook her head in disbelief. "Bah. That is an old Italian wives' tale. Only pazza old ladies believe that. Stop scaring Sally."

  "Stop calling me old lady," Nicoletta huffed as she followed my grandmother into the living room.

  "Thank God," Gianna breathed. "That woman is driving me nuts."

  Johnny's face reddened in discomfort, and he stared down at the table. He was caught between two strong-willed women and knew better than to say anything. There was no winning for him.

  "Forget about that old broad, sweetheart," my father said to Gianna and then turned back to me. "Sal, the class will only be once a week—on Saturdays. Your mother said she'd be glad to watch the baby if you need her to."

  My mother made a face. "Well, honey, of course I want to watch my grandchild, but I thought I'd be assisting you in class."

  He winked at her. "Hot stuff, you're so amazing that I bet you can do both."

  I struggled not to roll my eyes.

  "I don't want our child around his so-called students," Mike whispered in my ear. "They're probably a bunch of lunatics."

  My father must have heard our exchange, because he raised an eyebrow in annoyance. "They're not crazy. These are good, decent folks who happen to love my blog."

  "Well, that explains a lot about them," Gianna remarked.

  The doorbell sounded. It had to be Brian. I attempted to stand, but my mother put a hand up to stop me. "Stay there, darling. Too much jumping up and down isn't good for the baby." She trotted gaily out of the room, her silver miniskirt winking in the bright lights from the crystal chandelier above the table.

  My father watched her leave the room, a proud smile stretched across his round, cherubic face. "Boy, your mother gets hotter every year."r />
  Gianna stifled a groan and put her head back down on her arms, closing her eyes tightly. Johnny watched her anxiously as he reached over to give Alex a spoonful of applesauce. "Maybe we should go," he suggested. "You've had quite a lot to drink, babe."

  Gianna's head shot up. "I'm fine. And I want to hear what Brian says. If he has anything to say. I swear, that guy still has a crush on Sal."

  Mike's arm stiffened around my shoulders at her words, while I did my best not to wince. One never knew what would fall out of the mouth of a drunken Gianna these days. Words spewed forth between her lips like water gushed from a fountain, and it was all I needed right now. Mike had long since considered Brian's infatuation a thing of the past. Gianna was reigniting a fuse with her comments, and I was afraid another world war might break out.

  My mother returned to the room with Brian behind her, hat in hand. He nodded to all of us. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner."

  "It's no bother." My mother giggled as she sat down and pulled out her compact again from her makeup bag on the table. "We're almost done. Would you like cheesecake and a cup of coffee for dessert?"

  "No, thank you." Brian looked uncomfortable when our gazes met. "Uh, Sally, maybe we should talk privately."

  My chest tightened with anxiety. "That's not necessary. Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of my family."

  "Jenkins, what's this all about?" Mike demanded. "Did you find something to link Damian to Sal's carjacking? Was he one of the Santas?"

  Brian shook his head. "As I told your wife earlier, he wasn't involved in the carjacking."

  "What happened to him? Did he overdose?" I asked.

  Brian's expression was pained. "No. As you're aware, Sally, we couldn't hold him at the station. He came down of his own free will."

  "Why would he do that?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "It makes some of those guys feel important, I guess. Or maybe he was willing because he knew the parole officer could prove his innocence. He might have wanted to embarrass us when we found out later that he had an alibi."